


through the good and the bad and the ugly

by tobeconvincedoflove



Series: violin au [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Arguments, Enjolras is an Idiot, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Stress, Vomiting, enjolras's siblings are cute, i literally couldn't figure out how to end this so i just kept going, like vivid descriptions, vague violin talk, yeah i don't know what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras can't do this anymore. (He just can't let anyone else know that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	through the good and the bad and the ugly

“It is my great pleasure to introduce our last soloist, and one of our finest. He will be performing the Brahms concerto, his primary audition piece for college. Everyone, please welcome Connor Enjolras.” Smiling, Enjolras strides out on to the cramped stage in his school’s auditorium. Glancing out at the small crowd, it takes Enjolras only seconds to find Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Bella, Hugo, and Alexander. All of their faces light up as they meet his gaze; Hugo sends him two thumbs up. There’s a tension, though, in his friends’ faces that Enjolras can’t place, and doesn’t have to time to try to puzzle it out. 

He’s not nervous, but he needs to be focusing because this piece is a fucking bear. And it’s what he’s using as a marker before he goes and does his auditions and sends in his videos for conservatories. So, Enjolras quietly takes his stance and loses himself in the music. It’s not hard to forget that there’s an audience (as irrelevant as this one is), but there are a few bumps and odd quirks Enjolras takes note of, because they need to go away. He needs to get into a good school with a good package or else his parents step in. And the first step is this stupid school recital. 

When it’s over, when the small crowd is stomping their approval, Enjolras scans the entire audience again. Bella is glancing over her shoulder, and that’s when Enjolras sees them. 

It’s his parents. 

He doesn’t know how they’ve heard about the recital, because he hasn’t told them about anything since he was about fourteen. Honestly, Enjolras doesn’t even know if they know about him soloing with the CSO last spring, but somehow they manage to show up to his school recital. Why?

Because Enjolras knows something major is going to happen, he doesn’t waste time packing up his violin back in the orchestra room and rushing out. Because it’s just a school concert, he’s not in a tuxedo, but a blue button-down and one of Combeferre’s infamous bowties. So Enjolras shrugs on a coat and practically runs out to the open lobby-ish thing his school has. Sure enough, his parents are waiting with his siblings. Without thinking, he scoops Bella up, despite the fact that she’s seven now and their father gives Enjolras a glare that has him instantly placing her back on the floor. 

“Courfeyrac and Combeferre had to go, but they’re going to text you,” Alexander says, his eyes wide with worry. “They say you did amazing.” 

“Yes, about that,” his mother begins, her perfectly styled blond hair and grey eyes cutting into Enjolras. In an instant, breathing is harder, even though his little siblings group around him almost protectively. 

“I loved it. We even videotaped it so you can show your teacher!” Bella blurts out, now clutching her oldest brother’s hand tightly. 

“Yes.” His father’s voice is cold, and Enjolras knows they’re not impressed. What he doesn’t know is what that means for him. “Arabella, Hugo, Alexander… you’re going home with your mother. I need to have a private talk with your older brother.” With those words, Enjolras feels his heart fall deep into his gut. 

But there’s nothing to be done. Quietly, tensely, his siblings file out behind their mother, heads down and trying their damn hardest to look perfect. And Enjolras could kill his parents for making them feel like they have to. There’s friends and some teachers congratulating Enjolras, but his father quickly fends them off with his hardest glare. 

“Yes. Unfortunately, we need to go.” And with that, Enjolras ducks his head just like his siblings did, and follows his father’s firm, guiding hand on his shoulder to begin the short walk home. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Enjolras’s voice sounds thready and shaky even to him, and he’s trying to swallow the welling anxiety. It’s not working. 

“We did. I’m not sure quite why, though, in retrospect.” The words are said with the same cold formality that Enjolras’s father always treats him to. 

“It was my first time performing the piece, and—“

“Are you making excuses?” Enjolras’s father cuts him off, and Enjolras feels his jaw snap close. He can’t argue… that would just make it worse. 

“No, sir.”

“Then be quiet and listen. I understand that you plan to audition for conservatories with the Brahms.” Enjolras’s father pauses, but Enjolras knows better than to interrupt. “Your mother and I do not approve of this. You simply are not good enough to compete in the music world, and we will not pour our money into a doomed project. Unless you can prove us wrong, we will stop paying for this pipe dream when you turn eighteen in June. At that point, if we’re still not satisfied, you can either choose a more suitable career or accept the ending of funds, of all kinds. There will be no whining or negotiations.” 

Enjolras doesn’t have anything to say to that. There’s nothing to say… unless he can somehow improve enough to convince his parents his music is worthwhile he’s screwed. Sure, some of the top conservatories in the nation _want_ to hear him, but that’s not enough. 

He doesn’t know if he can do this. But Enjolras knows he can’t give up violin. 

****

*

“What the fuck are you doing?” Enjolras jumps when Courfeyrac slams his tray down on the table next to Enjolras. He’s hunched over an array of sheet music, and his lunch is sitting forgotten next to him.

“Transposing,” is all Enjolras mumbles, going back to scratching the right notes into the paper. 

“Why are you subjecting yourself to that? It sucks.” Combeferre’s voice is a little too curious to be genuine. 

“It’s really good money.” Really, that’s all Enjolras needs to say. Both of his friends know about the ultimatum his parents gave him, because he was freaking out too much to hide it from them. 

“How much have you been doing?” Courfeyrac has since shuffled around Enjolras’s pages just a little bit, trying to organize the mess.

“Not enough.” The words aren’t said curtly, but there’s enough of an edge to them to clue his friends in on how stressed Enjolras is. 

“Yeah, okay,” Combeferre says, grabbing the papers and putting them away. “Did you even remember to pack real food for lunch?” Sifting through Enjolras’s unopened bag, Combeferre finds a bag of carrots… and the second half of the trail mix that Enjolras’s didn’t eat yesterday. 

“Please don’t tell me this is what the munchkins have in store for them,” Courfeyrac deadpans, and Enjolras looks offended. (Courfeyrac, of course, takes this as an opportunity to take all of his friend’s work.)

“Of course not.” His words are clipped, because he’s not that bad of a brother to give his siblings just _that_ for lunch.

“Then why the fuck do you have it?” Well, damn. Enjolras should have been expecting that from Combeferre.

“I’m not hungry. Now, can I please have my stuff back?” Really, Enjolras isn’t. He’s got too much to do that if he even is hungry, the stress would just make him throw it up.

“Nope. You’re eating this pitiful lunch and some of mine, because my mom always packs way too much, and you’re taking a break. We all have a shitton of stuff to do, E, but you’re not working yourself to the ground.” Courfeyrac’s voice is calm, but leaves no room for argument. Sighing, Enjolras merely opens the bag and forces himself to take out the carrots. 

“Sorry.” It’s not enough, not to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who are completely stressed with college applications themselves and don’t want to have to worry about their friend this much, but it’s something. Maybe they nipped this bout of ceaseless work in the butt.

(That’s a damn joke.)

****

*

“Hey!” Enjolras calls out as he lets himself into the house. He’s made a lot of progress on the concerto, but there’s still the fear that this isn’t going to be enough. This week, he’s making his audition recording to send in for college, and Enjolras _feels_ ready, but there’s still the doom lingering over his head…

If he fucks anything up in the next year, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

But, Enjolras knows he’s not the only one who’s freaking out. His best friends are going through the same thing; they’re trying their hardest to get into good colleges, and the stress of applications on top of AP’s and normal classes and extracurriculars is closing in on them, too. And they still watch the munchkins every Saturday.

“Connor! I was in ballet and we were practicing for Nutcracker but then my friend Connor, not you Connor, vomited everywhere. It was disgusting!” Bella bursts out, running towards her older brother.

“That’s, um, interesting,” Enjolras gets out, as he accepts her hug. “You didn’t tell C squared our surprise, right?” The last part is said as a whisper as Alexander, Hugo, and the two teenagers in question file into the kitchen. When Bella shakes her head, Enjolras beams and places a kiss on her forehead.

“Were the munchkins good?” is the first thing Enjolras says, but all three people in question are grinning mischievously. 

“They were wonderful. They even quietly watched Netflix for the entire afternoon, so we could work on stuff,” Combeferre says, and Enjolras smiles. That’s the perfect segway into what he wants to talk about. 

“Yeah, about that,” Enjolras starts, and Courfeyrac already has begun laughing at the sly smile on his face. “The young’uns and I have come to a conclusion: you two are entirely too stressed.” 

“Pot calling the kettle—“ 

“That is irrelevant at this point.” To everyone’s surprise, it is little Hugo who says that. Of course, Alexander promptly high-fives him for the cleverness, before regaining their composure. 

“You guys aren’t happy. So we’re going to eat breakfast instead of dinner, probably because Enjolras ran out of macaroni even though I love—“

“Bella-Banana, focus,” Alexander teases. “But yeah. It’s a movie and pancakes kind of night. No ifs ands or buts.” 

“What sneaky little munchkins you are.” Courfeyrac ruffles the boys’ hair as Combeferre smiles. 

“Come on. We can watch Mulan while Enjolras makes food,” Bella urges, taking Combeferre by the hand. Bella’s always loved Courfeyrac just a little bit more than Combeferre, mostly because Courfeyrac will help her practice ballet (even though they all know that Bella is steadily outpacing everyone in terms of ballet, and her studio agrees), but after his eighteenth birthday, and subsequent moth and science tattoos, she likes him just a little bit more. 

With the kitchen to himself, Enjolras contents himself to start cooking enough chocolate-chip pancakes to feed a small army, softly listening to Mulan and humming to himself. There’s a soft lilting of laughter from his family (because Courfeyrac and Combeferre _are_ family), and Enjolras knows this is the right thing.

If they watch movies well after the munchkins go to bed and talk like they used to when they were twelve and still called these things sleepovers, so be it. Laughter comes easier as the night goes on, and it isn’t hard to imagine that they’re that young again. 

“Hey, do you remember when Enjolras couldn’t sit through the Wizard of Oz he was so fucking scared of the flying monkeys?” Courfeyrac says somewhere around two in the morning, and Combeferre breaks out laughing.

“God, you were so goddamn terrified you were shaking,” he adds in, still laughing at the memory. 

“Those things were creepy.” Enjolras is not going to admit that he’s still scared of those awful things. 

“Holy shit.” Dammit, Courfeyrac knows. He knows. And Enjolras is never going to hear the end of it.

“No, Courf—“ There’s nothing to stop this.

“He’s not afraid of performing in front of over a thousand people, and yet Connor Enjolras can’t handle some fake flying monkeys.” It’s said with so much gusto that Combeferre can’t contain himself. By the time they all finally fall asleep in the middle of Ten Things I Hate About You (Combeferre’s pick, oddly enough), they almost forget that their entire future rests on a few pieces of paper and the whims of college admissions, that they aren’t dealing with the terrifying notion of becoming adults.

(Courfeyrac and Combeferre don’t say how Enjolras has been an adult for years already.)

****

*

Enjolras should have expected things to fall to shit after that. Such an amazing day (week, really, because Enjolras does his recording and Courfeyrac cries by the end of it) could only end in something more awful. And so happens the day after the recording.

“Connor, my tummy hurts.” With that short sentence, Enjolras knows what he’s in for. In between the 3:00 am wakeup and when Bella and Alexander have to wake up for school, Enjolras deals with a vomiting and miserable little brother. It’s all he can do to make sure that Hugo drinks enough water so that he’s not dehydrated. There’s a fair amount of tears, too, as is the case with little kids that have the flu. 

“Sh, it’s okay,” Enjolras soothes, rubbing circles into his little brother’s back at roughly six o’clock in the morning. Thankfully, the vomiting seems to have backed off a bit, but Hugo’s cramping and Enjolras hasn’t slept and he prays to whatever is up there that the other two don’t come down with this. He doesn’t know if he can handle it if they do. 

“Come on, let’s get you set up on the couch. We can watch whatever you want,” Enjolras promises, helping his brother into a cocoon of blankets, placing a bin next to the couch and the remote in Hugo’s hand. “I’ve just got to get your siblings ready for school.” 

As Enjolras walks up the stairs, he pulls out his phone. He hates having to ask Courfeyrac and Combeferre for so much, but there’s nothing else he can do. Thankfully, they claim it’s no problem to walk the other two kids to school. 

“I don’t feel good.” Fucking shit. Enjolras is panicking, because if Bella is down he’s so screwed and—

Bella lets out a gloriously fake cough. 

Ah. So that’s what Bella’s got going on. Enjolras has no idea why she doesn’t want to go to school (he knows she loves it), but he’s not going to press her on it. He will, later, when he’s running off some actual sleep, but not now. He won’t force her to go. So that just leaves Alexander. 

With a quick amendment text, specifically to Courfeyrac because he might have to get to the bottom of this, Enjolras gets Alexander off with little fuss. Sure, he’s quiet and can’t bear to look at his almost-twin curled up in a sick ball of awful feelings on the couch, but he’s healthy and off to school, so Enjolras counts it as a win. 

It’s only when Hugo is fast asleep that Enjolras turns to his little sister. She’s curled up against Enjolras and he knows she’s seeking the comfort because something is _wrong_ , and seeing her this quiet and sad makes his hands shake.

“Hey, Bella,” he says softly, smoothing down her wild curls. “We need to talk.” If possible, Bella seems to deflate more.

“I’m not sick,” she mumbles, unable to meet her older brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Connor.”

“No, it’s okay. I just want to know what’s wrong. You love school, and I want to know what’s making you sad. Is it the other kids?” Enjolras’s voice is calm, because this is an important moment. He needs to make school okay for his little sister, because it’s so very important, but he also needs to make sure that _she_ is okay. Because that comes first. Now, when she’s twelve, and for the rest of her life. 

“It’s not them,” Bella sits up, but she’s fidgeting and still won’t meet Enjolras’s eyes.

“Hey, look at me,” Enjolras nudges, smiling a little at his wonderful sister. “Just talk to me. I want to help, Ara-Beara.” The nickname draws a ghost of a smile out of the girl, and she bites her lip before talking. 

“I’m not good at reading.” It’s one short sentence, but Enjolras feels his heart drop into his stomach. 

“That’s okay. You guys are learning… you’re not going to be perfect,” he tries to console, but Bella shakes her head.

“I’m so much worse than everyone. They’re all reading chapter books but I can’t because the words are too hard to read and I know they all think I’m stupid. I think Ms. Lane thinks I’m stupid, too.” Her voice sounds so… broken.

Enjolras doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s not cut out for this—he’s not a father, or her parent—but his ribcage aches with how wrong Bella is. 

“You’re not stupid.” Now Enjolras’s voice is shaking. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes to read a chapter book: you are not stupid. It might take you longer than the other kids, but that’s okay. Everyone learns at a different place. They can’t learn a ballet routine as fast as you, and you might not be able to read huge books as fast as them. You are so smart, and we can work on your reading, but don’t ever think that it defines you.” 

That’s when Bella starts crying. It’s not the temper tantrums or hurt tears Enjolras had dealt with when she was littler—it’s silent and broken so Enjolras just pulls her close. When she’s finally calmed down, Hugo has woken up, but thankfully hasn’t thrown up.

“I’m going to go get the Harry Potter book I’m reading, and you’re going to help me read.” 

When Bella nods, it’s with a smile. Maybe Enjolras can handle this. 

****

*

“Enjolras, you can’t keep missing school.” It’s Courfeyrac, it’s not even seven o’clock in the morning, and now all three of his siblings are miserably ill. Enjolras’s recordings and videos are done and all of his applications to college have been submitted now, but he’s been out of school for almost a week. He’s tired and he hates seeing his brothers and sister like this but he can’t just leave them alone. Or, gods forbid, with a nanny.

“I know, I know. The doctor said they should be okay in four days, tops. That’s only today and Monday out of school,” Enjolras calls out, running to Alexander who’s suddenly started shivering and quaking. 

“What are you going to do about violin tomorrow?” Now it’s Combeferre, who’s been busy trying to get a look at his friend’s face. 

“I cancelled. I can’t leave them when they’re sick.” Enjolras is back, a mostly-asleep Bella in his arms. Her head is in her brother’s neck, and normally Enjolras doesn’t let her climb all over him because she’s getting bigger and Enjolras isn’t incredibly strong, but she feels awful. Honestly, they all do. 

“We could have—“ 

“I couldn’t have asked you do to that. I let you do too much already,” Enjolras cuts off his friend. He’s stressed and there’s no way he’s going to make them look after his siblings when they’re at their lowest.

“Do your parents even know?” Courfeyrac’s voice is raising, but Enjolras glares hard enough when Bella shifts a little in her sleep to bring his volume back down. 

“Yeah. I called them because I had to take them to a doctor yesterday.” 

“And they’re not coming back? They’re just leaving you to deal with this?” Combeferre’s twisting his hands, trying to contain his temper. Enjolras just isn’t listening to them, but he’s not particularly motivated to argue right now. 

“Are you honestly surprised?” Enjolras opens the fridge, searching for juice. Hugo wants apple juice, he thinks. Honestly, after five nights of being up with vomiting kids, Enjolras isn’t too sure. 

“You know what… you don’t look too good.” Courfeyrac’s voice is hesitant as he pries a clinging Bella from Enjolras’s arms so he can do whatever the fuck he’s trying to do. “Maybe you should stay home today.” 

“I’m fine. But can you bring me my work again? I know it’s a lot to ask…” Enjolras can’t look at his best friends. He sees Combeferre’s disappointment and Courfeyrac’s worry and he can’t deal with this. 

“Have you even had time to do it? Or your violin? Or sleep?” Shit, Courfeyrac sounds angry. But Enjolras knows he can’t answer any of their questions the way they want, so he just doesn’t answer. 

“Dammit, E.” That’s Combeferre. “Look, we have to go, but you need help. We’ll have this conversation, the one we were really supposed to have today, tomorrow.” 

Shit’s going to hit the fan. 

****

*

“Come on, Alex, it’ll be okay. It’ll be over soon.” It’s Saturday night. Enjolras still hasn’t slept the way he really wants to, and he knows he’s going to get sick soon. Hugo and Bella are all better, and both are excited (but Enjolras is still worried about the smallest munchkin) to go to school the next day. But not Alexander.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander blubbers between fits of violent vomiting. He’s crying, too, and Enjolras can’t do this. He can’t handle this on top of everything-fucking-else. Alex has always been the strongest of all of the Enjolrases… moody, but the strongest. And seeing him in such a bad place is fucking Enjolras up.

He doesn’t know how parents do this. He doesn’t know how anyone can do this. 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay,” Enjolras soothes, rubbing gentle circles into his brother’s back. 

“No it’s not.” Now Alexander is done vomiting, but has apparently begun to cry. This is a whole new ball game. 

“Yeah, it is. You can’t help it that you feel awful. You’re just tired and sick and it’ll get better.” Enjolras is trying his damn hardest to just get through this. If he can get through this they’ll all go back to school and he can get caught up on work and his parents won’t hate him. 

“No. You shouldn’t be doing this… I know Courfeyrac and Combeferre are angry and they’re right. You should have to do this.” Now Alexander is sobbing, and it’s all Enjolras can do to pull him into a tight embrace and try to rock him back to the realm of calm. 

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of them, and you just have to focus on getting better.” 

“They’re focusing on you. ‘Cause there’s no one else to. Don’t fight with them. Please don’t fight with them,” Alexander pleads, and Enjolras is blindsided. Luckily, a sudden call-in to work postponed Enjolras and their dreaded “talk”, but he has no idea what the fuck Alexander is so scared of.

“Please, Enjolras,” Alexander gets out, his voice creaking as he wraps his arms even tighter around his older brother. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

When he finally calms Alexander down again, Enjolras locks himself in his room and lets the panic seep into his stomach and crawl through his veins. 

He can’t do this. 

****

*

“You can’t do this!” Combeferre thunders. “Enjolras, this has gone on long enough!”

“I am fine!” Enjolras yells back. He knows his siblings are in the house, but fuck this. It’s what he has to do so he’s going to do it. Courfeyrac and Combeferre need to back off.

“You look like crap, E.” Courfeyrac chimes in, his voice shaky but cold. 

“And you can’t keep being a father to your siblings.” Combeferre is angrier than Enjolras has ever seen him. He’s screaming and yelling and Enjolras just wants to crawl in a hole and never face his friends again. “You’re seventeen, Enjolras. You need to go to school, and to violin, and to _sleep_. It is not your job to raise your siblings. That’s your parents’ jobs.” 

“Well, they haven’t done their job in years!” Enjolras screams, not trying to hide the tears streaming down his face. “And I know how much I suck at this! I know I can’t cook like I should, I know I don’t know how to take care of sick kids, and I know I look like hell! But no one else is going to do to this. So I have to.” 

“No you don’t.” Courfeyrac’s voice is shaking. “No you don’t, Enjolras. There are other options. You don’t have to do this by yourself.” 

“No there’s not! Because that means I’ll be putting this on you, or your parents, and I can’t do that! This is my family! It is my responsibility.” Enjolras regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are his family, too. He doesn’t mean it. 

“If you want to do this all by yourself, then fine. I’m done trying to help you.” Enjolras knows how hurt Combeferre is, but when he storms out Enjolras just puts his head in his hands. 

“Enjolras—“ Courfeyrac’s voice is dangerous, but Enjolras just shakes his head.

“Go. Just go.” For the first time in a long time, Enjolras cries. 

“I’m never having kids.” The sob goes out of him before he can stop it, but Enjolras just prays his siblings don’t hear it. 

****

*

The kids are back in school and Enjolras still doesn’t have it under control. His parents have come and gone again, and he’s falling behind. He’s drowning in work and transpositions, his vibrato needs to be wider, and the Brahms has gotten sloppy. (Combeferre and Courfeyrac still haven’t talked to him since that Sunday.)

Enjolras is tired, and he feels like shit. He can’t concentrate and there’s too much pressure and his muscles are starting to hurt and his head feels funny. There’s not much more he can do but it’s not getting easier. Between ballet rehearsals and helping Bella with her reading and studying and violin and keeping the house in check Enjolras knows he’s falling behind. He’d had a make-up lesson in the middle of the week, but… it hadn’t gone well. He’d fucked up the easy stuff and was so tense out of stress that his tone was complete shit.

But he can’t ask for help.

They don’t understand. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are his family, too, but that’s why he can’t keep putting his shit on them. He has to grow up and deal with it or he’ll never make it once his parents inevitably kick his ass to the curb. Really, Enjolras should be making arrangements to make sure the unavoidable nanny is a good person to his brothers and sisters. But he can’t think about that. Not now. 

He can do this. 

He can do this?

Can he do this?

How much longer can he do this? 

****

*

The next few days are hazy. Enjolras stumbles through, trying to hide how awful he feels. His head is pounding and his stomach is turning and he hasn’t slept how he should since Hugo got sick. Something is going to catch up with him and then Enjolras doesn’t know what he’ll do. He has too much to do and not nearly enough time to do it. He was shaking too badly to practice violin the night before and his vibrato is still too fucking tight and nothing is working out. He can’t fail.

But then he’s in history. It’s the only class he has with both Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and they’re whispering in the opposite corner of the room. It’s an annoying hiss at the back of Enjolras’s skull, and he can see the way they keep glancing over at him. After the third time in fifteen minutes, Enjolras feels his stomach twist in a painful way that lets him know that he’s done. 

“May I go to the bathroom?” he asks as his face pales, and as soon as the teacher nods Enjolras bolts out the door. He barely makes it into a stall before he’s violently heaving up whatever he’s managed to eat this week. His chest is constricting and he can’t breathe and his body keeps tightening and moving wretchedly and Enjolras almost passes out from the pain. 

It doesn’t stop. It keeps going and going even though there’s nothing left inside of him. Enjolras can’t keep himself from crying, from whimpering, from sobbing as it becomes too much. After he finally stops expelling bile, the sobs make his already ragged breathing even more irregular. There’s black dots dancing around his vision and Enjolras thinks he’s going to pass out on the bathroom floor if someone doesn’t—

Courfeyrac and Combeferre are there in an instant, propping Enjolras up from where he’s slumped against the toilet seat. All Enjolras can hear are the screamed words from a few days earlier, but the hands that smooth his hair back and cup his face are gentle. 

“Come on, Enjolras. I need you to breathe. Come back to us, Connor,” Combeferre soothes, but Enjolras just cries harder. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over. “I can’t do this. I’m not good enough to do this anymore.” The words are spilling from Enjolras’s mouth and his entire body is shaking but there’s nothing he can do. The nausea returns and Enjolras is back to throwing up pure bile into the toilet bowl. 

“I’m worried he’s going to pull a muscle,” Courfeyrac mutters as he holds Enjolras’s hair back. Combeferre is trying to calm Enjolras down, his hands tracing different shapes onto his friend’s back as they wait for the fit to pass. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long, and Enjolras doesn’t have enough energy to even cry. 

The silence is deafening. Enjolras’s head is drooping onto his shoulders, and Combeferre’s all but holding him up against the wall of the stall. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again. All Courfeyrac does is make gentle soothing noises, trying to keep Enjolras from flipping out, because he doesn’t know if the blond’s body can take it right now. 

“Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.” Combeferre’s voice is soft, and he gently holds Enjolras’s head so his friend has to meet his eyes. “You can sleep there, E. It’s going to be okay.” Enjolras only nods, and he’s so shaky that Enjolras can barely stand even with Combeferre’s help. Luckily, Courfeyrac thinks, Enjolras is really out of it, because judging by the complete meltdown his headspace is really fucked up right now from the stress of everything. 

Combeferre ends up carrying Enjolras half of the way there after he falls asleep out of the blue. 

(He doesn’t mind.) 

****

*

Enjolras wakes up several hours later to a completely dark room and Courfeyrac crouching in front of the cot, gently pushing Enjolras’s hair away from his face.

“Hey,” he says quietly, though Enjolras flinches a little at the pain the sound causes in his skull. “It’s the end of the school day. Combeferre’s mom is picking up the munchkins from school and my mom is taking you to the doctor’s.” 

“I’m okay. I just need to go home,” Enjolras slurs, eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. 

“Good try. You look like shit,” Courfeyrac whispers, frowning when Enjolras winces again. “Do you need help getting up?” Enjolras tips his head a little to say no. But when he sits up, the entire room spins and he has to grab for a bucket to be sick in (again). 

“I’m sorry.” The words are barely whispered as Courfeyrac helps his friend to his feet. “And I know you’re still angry.” 

Courfeyrac doesn’t respond as he manages to get his friend out the door and into the car, where he just falls asleep again. Yes, he’s angry, but most of it has turned into worry. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” Courfeyrac asks as his mom checks on Enjolras via the rearview mirror for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

“I don’t know,” is all she says, and that spikes Courfeyrac’s worry. His mom is a nurse… she has to know what’s going on. 

“Isn’t it just what the munchkins had?” Now Courfeyrac is fidgeting with his hands, trying to keep from texting Combeferre in a frenzy of worry. He should check on Combeferre, though, because he was shaking when they left the nurse’s office that morning. And not in anger, like he was the night they fought with Enjolras. 

“Yeah, but it’s compounded by stress and exhaustion. And he’s probably dehydrated already, if what you and Combeferre saw was accurate.” His mom’s lips are a thin, tight line, and that’s how he knows that she’s angry. 

“He’s gonna come home with us, right?” That’s the question Courfeyrac has been scared to ask. 

“Hopefully.” Well, it looks like Courfeyrac has a lot of hoping to do. 

****

*

It takes almost four hours, but after enough begging from Enjolras the doctors and nurses release him. He’s got some medicine already in him and prescriptions for more, but if the anti-emetic doesn’t work and he can’t keep water down by tomorrow morning, Enjolras has to go back.

“We’re going to have to keep a close eye on Connor,” Courfeyrac’s mom says quietly, looking at her son through the rearview mirror. This time, he’s chosen to sit in the backseat with Enjolras, who looks awfully pale and with dark bags like bruises under his eyes. But Enjolras is asleep, and curled into a tight ball, his head resting in Courfeyrac’s lap. 

“Yeah. I don’t know why they said that stuff in front of him, especially after he still insisted he was fine after almost passing out when they made him stand up,” Courfeyrac replies, fingers gently massaging his friend’s scalp to keep him calm and asleep. “They should have known it would go badly.” 

“Text Combeferre and tell him what’s going on. If Connor manages to hide if he needs to vomit or suppresses it because he wants to avoid the hospital, it will end badly,” she warns, one hand wiping at her face. “Shoot. I have to tell his parents.”

“Do you have to?” The words tumble out of Courfeyrac’s mouth before he can stop them. “There’s a lot going on and I don’t think they should know.” 

“There’s a lot more to this than just stress, isn’t there?” Courfeyrac knows his mom disapproves of how the Enjolrases treat their oldest child, of the situation in general. “Ferdinand Courfeyrac, you better tell me what is going on.” She did it. She used the full name. 

“They said if Enjolras doesn’t get a lot better they’re going to kick his ass to the curb in June or he has to go into business,” Courfeyrac spills immediately, looking down at his friend. “So Enjolras has been trying to build up some money while doing even more practice than normal and it’s just a bad situation. And now Bella’s having trouble in school and the whole death illness came up and it’s a mess.” 

“They said he wasn’t good enough to be a violinist?” His mother’s voice is soft, so Courfeyrac just nods. “God, I don’t know what happened to them, but they’ve seen him play once in the past two years. They have no idea, and now Connor’s terrified that he’s not enough.” 

“To be fair, he’s never thought he was enough.” The words taste bad as they leave Courfeyrac’s tongue, but it’s the truth. 

“Ferd-“ his mother starts, slightly agitated, but is cut off by Enjolras waking up. In an instant, her tone changes completely. “Hey, we’re almost home.” 

Enjolras tips his head slightly, keeping his head mostly still. Apparently the melatonin pill isn’t helping with the headache-turned-migraine, and sitting up sends Enjolras’s eyes out of focus. 

“Easy, easy,” Courfeyrac says, leaning his friend against him as they park in front of Enjolras’s house. From there, it’s a quick transfer into the house, Enjolras stumbling along blindly, letting Courfeyrac take most of his weight. For a moment, he’s worried that he’s going to have to do stairs (that, Enjolras thinks, is what will make him start vomiting again), but there’s a camp bed in the living room with all of his blankets so Enjolras just stumbles to that. He just wants to go back to sleep, but then his siblings are all there, so Enjolras manages a smile for them. 

“You’re sick,” is all Bella says, crawling up next to her brother on the bed. “You said you weren’t gonna get sick.” 

“He’s been sick, Bella,” Alexander responds, and Courfeyrac sees Enjolras hide a wince at the volume of his brother’s voice. “He’s just been an idiot about it.” 

“You said we should never hide if we don’t feel good,” Hugo chastises, and Combeferre can’t help but smile. Both his and Courfeyrac’s mom are two seconds away from prying the munchkins away so Enjolras can rest, but he looks a little better when he’s watching the banter. There’s a slight frown on his face, but it goes away when Bella wraps her small arms around him. 

“I’m going to get his prescriptions,” Courfeyrac’s mom says to Combeferre’s, before giving off a whole slew of instructions. “Don’t let him hide and tell me if he throws up. He’s got some meds in him but if he’s still in pain give him some more. And don’t call Kathryn and Joseph just yet.” 

“You should lie down,” Bella says, looking up at Enjolras, arms still around him. “You look worse than Alex did.” 

“She’s right,” Combeferre says, perching himself at the foot of the camp bed. Enjolras looks down, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. “My mom’s getting the munchkins some food ready now, and then she’s going to want to know what you want. I can either wake you up again if you don’t answer or you can just tell me and then go to sleep.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Enjolras mumbles, trying to quell the nausea in his stomach. He knows he can’t throw up again, not with the subtle threats of the doctors and his friends alike hanging over his head, and that means he can’t eat. And if vomiting is out of the question, all he wants to do is sleep. 

“Right. Looks like I’ll be waking you up twice.” Combeferre moves to get up, but Enjolras shifts.

“Wait,” he says, because if Enjolras plays nice for a few hours they’ll drop their guards and he can be sick in peace. “I think there’s some soup in the cupboard.” 

“Okay.” Combeferre gives him a smile, but of course Enjolras doesn’t see it because he’s too busy fidgeting with the blanket. So he just sits down next to his friend, and Bella scoots back over to her brothers, looking worried. Bella’s already confronted Combeferre about their fight, but she’s still nervous that Connor is going to get upset. And Combeferre really doesn’t want to get yelled at by Bella gain. 

“Don’t go to any trouble,” is all Enjolras adds, trying so desperately to keep how much he wants to cry to himself. This is the final insult… everyone being around because Enjolras can’t fucking take care of a little flu by himself. He’s so screwed for June it’s not funny. “I’m just going to go change and put away my violin so I can sleep on my bed.” It’s a weak attempt, but it’s an attempt nonetheless. 

“Nope,” Courfeyrac says cheerily, before rushing up the stairs and coming back with Enjolras’s pajamas. “Your room is a mess, E. But the doctors don’t want you going up and down stairs until you’re a bit steadier on your feet.” 

“Okay. Well, I’m going to go change.” Enjolras tenses when Combeferre follows him. Obviously, they’re going to be watching him like hawks, but Enjolras is fine. He’s fine. If he’s a bit shaky and grasps on the doorframes as he moves, oh well. 

He’s so embarrassed when Combeferre stands literally outside of the door. Enjolras just wants to throw up so badly, because his stomach is cramping and swirling around all at once and he just wants it to go away. But he can’t. If Enjolras lands his ass in a hospital his parents are going to be pissed. 

So he just changes and slowly shuffles back to the bed, where he curls up under all of the blankets and try to ignore how much his head is throbbing. His siblings are eating a snack at the bar, but Courfeyrac and Combeferre settle in on the couch, pulling out their homework as Enjolras slowly dozes off. 

****

*

Enjolras pulls himself out of unconsciousness, and when he does it’s almost dark in the room. His head hurts so badly he wants to cry, and his muscles are so tight that he can’t sit up. So it’s a soft whimper that escapes, because Enjolras knows that the moment something enters his stomach it’s coming right back up, anti-emetic be damned.

“Hey,” Combeferre says, noticing his friend is awake. “Good timing. Mom was just going to wake you up to eat something.” 

“What time is it?” Enjolras asks, looking around for his siblings. 

“Only eight. My mom just had to pry Bella off of you to put her to bed,” Courfeyrac says. “They didn’t want to leave you.” 

“I’m fine,” Enjolras gets out, but everything hurts too much for the words to have any real bite. 

“You want to try that again?” Combeferre asks when Enjolras can barely pull himself into a sitting position. That’s when Combeferre’s mom appears, a glass of water and a bowl of soup in hand. 

“You’ve got to eat at least half of this, and drink all of the water,” she says, feeling Enjolras’s forehead. Truth be told, Enjolras is shivering under the blankets, but his head feels almost burning-hot to her touch. “I’ll be back with your medicine.” 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Enjolras mumbles, taking a small sip of the water. The cool liquid feels good going down his throat, but it’s adding to the chaos in his stomach. 

“Just do your best, E,” Combeferre urges, now sitting right next to his friend again. 

“Why are you being so nice?” Enjolras asks, playing with the spoon. He has yet to even dip the utensil into the bowl, and Courfeyrac’s mom is watching from the couch. “I know you’re furious.” 

“Yeah, I am,” Combeferre admits, but he nudges Enjolras’s knee with his own. “But now isn’t the time. You’re sick and tired and we are going to have a talk later, but to do that you have to get better. So eat the soup, you dork.” With that, Enjolras manages to crack a small smile. “So are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Enjolras whispers, taking another small sip of water. It takes a long time, and a lot of prodding from his best friends, but eventually a third of the bowl is gone as is all of the water. Immediately, Enjolras curls back into a ball on the bed, covering himself with as many blankets as he can. He’s trying to ride out the nausea, and he knows everyone else is watching him do it. 

“We can watch the Wizard of Oz if you want,” Courfeyrac suggests innocently, but Enjolras doesn’t even want to turn his head to glare at his friend. So he just wraps his arms around his stomach and tries to breathe regularly. When Enjolras lets out a strangled noise that he’s been keeping in for the entire time, Combeferre is right by his side.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks. “Is it your head or your stomach?” Enjolras just shakes his head, and that’s when Courfeyrac’s mother steps in. 

“Do you think you’re going to throw up?” she asks, sitting so that she’s facing the sick teenager. Again, Enjolras just shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. “Enjolras, you need to talk to us so we can help. We can’t help if you keep shaking your head.” 

“Hurts,” Enjolras manages to get out. “But I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Enjolras, if you have to you have to. You can’t control it,” Courfeyrac adds in, and Enjolras feels the bed dip a little as he sits down and starts rubbing circles in his back. 

“I’ll be fine.” Sure enough, Enjolras speaks clearer that time. The pain isn’t worse, but they don’t need to know that. Enjolras is in control. “I’m going to go to sleep.” 

“Okay. We’ll be right here if you need anything.” There’s doubt in Mrs. Courfeyrac’s voice, but Enjolras just shuts it out. The medication is doing weird things to his stomach and his head just hurts and Enjolras is done. 

****

*

It’s almost two in the morning when Enjolras can’t hold it in any longer. Both of his friends are asleep, and he thinks the mothers are too, so he quietly pulls himself off of the camp bed, shivering without the warmth of the blankets, and silently pulls himself to the bathroom. Enjolras is dizzy and his head doesn’t feel any better, but his stomach hurts too much and he needs to vomit. So he shuts the door with a soft click and tries his hardest to do it quietly.

Fuck. He didn’t think vomiting would hurt his head so much. The built-up pressure is making his skull want to explode and his muscles are screaming in protests but now that it’s started it won’t stop. The medicine makes it tastes awful and sharp going up his throat and it only takes thirty seconds for someone to start banging on the locked door. Just like before, the tears come with the vomiting and Enjolras isn’t steady enough to get to the door so he just sits there hyperventilating at the sharp pain in his head and now the sharp pain in his empty stomach. Enjolras knows this is his final failure, but he can’t face it. He can’t face it he can’t face it he can’t—

The door bangs open. Combeferre’s hands are on his face and his glasses are askew but his eyes are forcing Enjolras to look at his. 

“Just breathe. Come on, Enjolras, it’ll feel better if you calm down,” he’s pleading, but it hurts too much. The words aren’t making sense and Enjolras is scared but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Please,” Enjolras pleads. “Don’t take me back I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine—“

“Sh,” Combeferre says. “We’re not taking you back. Just let me get you back to the living room, and then Courf’s mom can see what’s going on. It’ll be okay, E. It’s not your fault.” 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras sobs, and he knows he’s acting immature, but he can’t stop himself from crying like a little baby. 

“It’s not your fault.” Now it’s Courfeyrac’s voice, and he’s holding a half-asleep Arabella. “Someone here is worried, though.” 

After one more short burst of vomiting, Combeferre helps Enjolras up. Now, Enjolras is stumbling too much for his friend’s liking, so he just takes half of Enjolras’s weight and all but carries him to the makeshift bed area. Instantly, Enjolras curls up, and Bella clings to him like a koala bear. 

“I’m okay, Ara-Beara,” he reassures her, but his stomach is tight and he doesn’t think he can go back to sleep like this. Until there’s a warmth pressed against his stomach, and Enjolras sees the hot water bottle there. It helps the muscles uncoil, and it feels amazing. 

“Did the water come up, too?” Courfeyrac’s mom asks, and Enjolras nods his head. That’s all she asks as she checks his temperature, feels his stomach, and does other things that Enjolras is half-conscious for. 

“We’ll have to call his parents tomorrow and see if they’ll agree to us taking him in again,” is the final verdict, but Enjolras bolts upright into a sitting position, immediately clutching at his stomach in pain. 

“No, please! Don’t call them; I’ll be fine,” Enjolras pleads, but is gently pushed back against the pillows by his friends. 

“We have to, E.” That’s all Enjolras hears before he finally crumples. It’s the final blow. There’s no point fighting it anymore. 

“Get some rest,” Combeferre urges, as Enjolras seems to finally relax completely. “We’ll be here if you need anything.” 

“Thank you.” With that, Enjolras is back asleep.

“This can’t go on any longer.” That’s when Combeferre starts crying. He knows he’s fought for this side, but he’s scared for what it means. He’s scared for Enjolras, he’s worried about how sick his friend is, and he’s scared of what’s coming. 

None of them are cut out to deal with this. They’re not ready to be adults. Maybe if Combeferre clicks his heels three times this will all go away and they’ll be five years old again and—

That’s a child’s dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew. This is rough. Let me know what you think.


End file.
